We Got Married
by LowBreeze
Summary: A show, that's all they want…but it's a Game we'll get. Peeta and I, we are the faces of the Capitol's new show, President Snow's new Game. Catching Fire, with a twist.
1. Chapter 1

**We Got Married**

_(A/N: Inspired by a Korean reality show titled so. I would tell you what the show is about, but you'll see as you read on. It might give away the whole point of the story if I describe the premise of the show! As for the beginning of this story, it takes place in Chapter Two of Suzanne Collins' Catching Fire.)_

* * *

"Why don't you just kill me now?" I blurt out.

President Snow doesn't lift up his eyes from stirring his tea. He doesn't have the decency to even make eye contact with the person he plans on killing. Instead, he shoots down my ideas of how exactly he'll make it happen. Certainly he won't make a martyr out of me by murdering me in public, and arranging an accident wouldn't make a strong enough point to get through to the people of Panem. The point he wants to reinforce is that if you defy the Capitol in any shape or form, directly or indirectly, you will be punished.

But I remain upright in my seat, hyperaware of my surroundings in this lavish house meant for Victors, and watch President Snow's every move. I can't say the thought of me lunging for his teaspoon and plunging it in his neck hasn't crossed my mind since I found him in this office.

Uncomfortable in the hanging silence, I say, "Then just tell me what you want me to do. I'll do it." I almost sound desperate, because I know if I go against him a second time, my mother and my little sister Prim are only within harm's reach.

The cookies my mother brought in are now receiving the special attention the tea was given a minute ago. President Snow plucks one from the tray and raises it to eye level, admiring its intricate icing details. Its soft pastel colors and deft hand techniques are only from the doings of Peeta, our District's fine baker and my alleged lover.

"Your cousin," he prompts so suddenly, "what's his name?"

"Gale," I say in the most resolute way I can. Somehow I know, in this tangle of lies people—namely my mentor Haymitch—have spun for me in order to back up my relationship with Peeta, President Snow sees through it all. Gale is indeed not my cousin. He is my best friend. One who only put yet another kink in the mess I'm trying to control, by blindsiding me with a kiss while we were hunting. I try to convince myself that there's no way that President Snow could know. But I shake it off and keep my composure, in case President Snow decides to pencil in another kill in his books.

He takes in a whiff of the cookie in his hand and says, "He won't, by any chance, pose as a problem, will he, Miss Everdeen?"

"No," I answer, and I take a moment to swallow down a dry patch in my throat. "Peeta and I…we will be the same." In love. Granted, one more than the other can ever be, but Peeta and I will be in love.

"I am only concerned because I care." His tone makes it hard to believe. "All twelve districts have been duped. Your participation in the Games, and Peeta's love struck feelings towards you have led them to believe that love conquers all." He finally stands from the desk chair he's been sitting on and offers me the cookie he chose not to eat. "That your _love_ gives the people of Panem hope."

Hope for what? And then I remember the news once Peeta and I were hoisted from the arena. When we were crowned the first ever _Victors_ of the Hunger Games…

I had heard rumors about District 11 causing trouble, but that was only after they had lost their 12-year-old tribute Rue. But a second rumor spread about when the Head Gamemaker Seneca Crane caved and allowed two winners to come home. In spurts, the uprisings began. First the families of murdered tributes rebelled against some Peacemakers. Then friends of those families formed alliances and refused to feed into the Capitol's wants by not working in their factories. I can only hope that not many were harmed for their defiance.

Another piece of gossip is flying around, something more recent. It has something to do with me and Peeta, and our relationship, and it's causing the uprisings to deteriorate. Like the rare few from the Capitol, small bodies of people here or there—maybe a bitter mother, father or brother, sister of a tribute—know better than to believe the televised star-crossed love. They suspect that it was all a strategy to stay alive. They weren't wrong...

"So what are you saying?" I ask him, my nostrils twitching from the vague stench of blood as he circles my chair.

"As it turns out, Miss Everdeen, our people of Panem are catching on," he says as the curve on his lips sends shivers through my spine. "Not all, but the numbers are growing quite tremendously. You see, unlike Seneca, there are those who are not fooled. They will try to find the cracks in your attachment with Peeta Mellark, and doing so will result in a settlement that the Capitol would never have to take part of."

So the uprisings are only succeeding under the example of Peeta declaring his love for me, and I for him? The people are learning that there is power in numbers, and the people of Panem know that the districts' populations put together largely outnumber the measly amount of Peacemakers. Should they all rally as one, they can bring down the Capitol. But…if they find out that our romance in the Games was all a scam, it would be a great toppling over. More trust would be lost than the amount possibly gained, and all I would have to show for it is that I'm just as twisted as the Capitol power. And everyone I had come into contact with since the Reaping would be targeted as conspirators as well for going along with it. My family, Gale, Peeta, and Haymitch would all be shunned in this already divided nation.

"And?" I prompt a bit shakily. A part of me wants to know where he is going with this interrogation, but a huge part of me doesn't.

"As President, I am fair, and a happy Panem…well…" He stops himself because maybe he even realizes how ridiculous he sounds. He wants nothing but a desperate, weak Panem, the kind that he can control. "I only assume that you would want to prove to your people that what you and Mr. Mellark have is genuine," he says matter-of-factly. "I can provide you with that opportunity."

Why give me the chance to add fuel to the uprisings? A wrinkle forms between my brows until I realize that this is President Snow. Although he's not the Head Gamemaker, he surely has a hand in the Games. He's giving me another Game to play. His oh-so generous offer shows that he has faith I will fail at whatever he has planned for me.

But his plans have failed before. "Yes, okay," I challenge back, "I'll take it. What do I do?"

"I can arrange, let's say, a public announcement." He gestures at one of the guarding Peacemakers and takes an enclosed envelope from him. Snow unravels the twill that holds it together ever so slowly, as if to heighten the tension in me, and looks over the first page of a twenty-odd paged packet. "It'll be ongoing," he continues explaining. "You and your better half Peeta will move in together." He catches a flash of panic strike my face and adds, "Almost like your own little cave, but with bed accommodations."

My reflexes fail me for an instant when President Snow hands me the packet. When I take it from him, I flip through it quickly and realize that this is a contract, complete with a necessary signature on every other page. "Okay," I say. "Where's the pen?"

"Ah, but there's more, my dear Katniss," he informs me, and I should've known by the contract's thickness. "I have cameramen set aside to personally follow you and Peeta around, watching you both live your happy life as the first Victors to come home alive. Every week we will broadcast an episode of your married life, and the people will have the chance to see what it is like to be a winner of the Games—the money, the food, the house…"

"_Married_?" I croak, stuck between a gasp and scream. I thought it was all over but it's like a spinoff of the Games;we might as well volunteer to be part of another one. To provide more sheer entertainment to those that are privileged, and envy to those who aren't. "I have to—"

"Marry him?" he finishes for me. "Why, yes, of course, Miss Everdeen. Or shall I now call you Mrs. Mellark?"

"Why?" I ask. My attention falls back to the contract and my shoulders start to lose their rigidity.

President Snow stands beside me, patting at the packet in my lap. "As always," he says lowly, his pungent breath wafting at the side of my face, "we only want a good show." He begins to take his leave.

"I'll be convincing," I speak up in a whisper before he exits the room. My body remains paralyzed from the overwhelming challenge.

"Convince me," he elusively chuckles. "Wouldn't want the people to know about the kiss between you and your dear cousin, do we?" When he finally leaves, with the promise of keeping in touch, I suddenly become conscious of the breath I was holding.

If I even so much as stammer in saying "I love you," President Snow wins.

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_(A/N: As you can see, I'm jumping on the HG bandwagon pretty late. I've just finished reading the second book, and I'm in love with the series. For this story, I hope to update from time to time, and hit the main points of the book and still stick to my rendition of at the same time. We'll see how that goes…_

_I know my hiatus from writing on here has been too long, and I had every intention of continuing my other stories, but this idea was too good to pass up. I hope you all like it! Please review and tell me what you think of it!)_


	2. Chapter 2

_(A/N: It goes without saying, but copyright infringement is not intended. Characters and the main gist of the plot all belong to Suzanne Collins, and We Got Married is a variety show originated in South Korea._

_First of all, THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE REVIEWS! :) Secondly, I want to thank wolffielover for catching my error about Rue's district. If I have any other big mistakes that don't pertain to the rendition of this story, please notify me, because I'm only human and humans make mistakes on a daily basis! Anyway, I'm ecstatic that you are liking the story! Please read on through and enjoy!)_

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My hands are restless and indecisive when I clutch the contract. I want to fly through pages and gloss over the demands so that I can ensure the safety of my loved ones. Meeting the requirements and staying within the parameters of the contract are vital, but the penalties for breeching them are daunting themselves. I only read the first category and my eyes glaze over in absolute disbelief that I'm signing up to be a game piece once more.

But when my mother carefully pads into the room, I blink myself back into cool composure. "Is everything all right, Katniss?" she asks.

I tuck the contract underneath my legs and answer, "Yes. President Snow wanted to fill me in on the general agenda for the Tour. It's apparently standard protocol for new victors."

"Oh, that's good." She lets out a sigh, releasing the anxiety that has festered over the past few hours. "Shall I start on your bath?"

I nod and offer a small smile, allowing her to take care of me. Finally. When she runs the water into our pool of a bathtub, I can almost see the brighter energy radiating off her, an aura that floats along with the steam from the hot water.

My mother's more awake than before I left her and Prim for the Games. Although we don't hold the mother-daughter conversations that others gab over, we have our small talks during dinner and when we need to refill the pantry, which is a major advancement considering my mother's been out of it since she lost her husband. I filled in pretty big shoes to begin with, taking care of both her and Prim as if they were both my younger sisters. But as an attempt to repair my relationship with my mother, I let her be the parent figure she's supposed to be, when she can.

I hold my change of clothes close to my chest when my mother informs me of using the new bath oils in the water. After promising to give her some feedback on them, I lock the door behind me and unpack the contract from my shirt and pants. I sink carefully into the unfamiliarly hot water, sensing the smoothness of the oils as they lap onto my skin. Before I dive into the contract, I let my body come to temperature with the bath.

As much as I want my body to relax and be soothed into numbness, I can't stop my thoughts from running around inside my head. First of all, Peeta. How do I expect him to carry all the weight for this relationship? He may have gotten us into this mess of being the golden couple from the Games, but he also got us out alive, with little verbal help on my end. Does he even know about our fate to be married, or is President Snow leaving that up to me as well?

And then there's Gale, whom I have to now keep up his image of being my cousin. We haven't even had the chance to talk about what happened in the woods, where he ambushed me, but this deal has clipped the need to. If there was any chance of Gale and I being anything more, it's been thrown out the window. And his admiration for Peeta is at Ground Zero so I should probably let him find out about my engagement on his own.

Cinna then crosses my mind. No doubt will he design my dress, but just the thought of me in a poofy gown makes me shudder in the hot water. I want to put off that day as long as possible, so I won't tell him yet either.

Only person left to announce my engagement to is Haymitch. He has coached me on what to do romantically while I was in the games, after all. But I can hear him snort at me already, smirking behind his fourth glass of booze, "I don't have to walk you down the aisle, do I, sweetheart?"

For once, I'm glad that my father's not around to witness the horrible state I've positioned myself in. The water sloshes around when I turn my head and stare at the contract. I can't procrastinate on reading it any longer.

Pretend I'm in love with Peeta is the first and foremost obligation listed, otherwise everything I have come into contact with since birth will be obliterated. I gulp and press on.

The bigger picture involves the dress, as I have anticipated, but there is also the matter of the rings…and the proposal. I had a hard enough time pushing myself to be up to par with Peeta's infatuation with me, so my brain almost short circuits. If I don't tell Peeta about the contract, am I expected to propose to him? Or will he eventually propose on his own? Either option stands alone as terrorizing.

That's as far as I get, and it's not much of a dent into the contract. I drone on to make it to the end of the day and sleep until an eager knock raps at my front door in the morning. I assume it's my mother or Prim who will beckon me to get out of bed and prepare for the arrival of my entourage, but it's a different wakeup call.

"Katniss, your _eyebrows_!" Venia gasps exasperatingly, which makes me tumble out onto the hardwood floor.

I groan in protest when she and the rest of my prep team haul me up to properly give me a body inspection. "What are you all doing here so early?" I ask, still half asleep. The clock on the wall does nothing for me since it's just one spiral blur.

"We had an intuition that we might need a head start," says Octavia, disappointment evident in her tone as she investigates my fingernails, "and we were right. Well, what could we expect, being away for so long, leaving you to your own devices?"

This reunion manages to lift my spirits for a while. Even though I have to apologize for not keeping up with the hairless skin, hair treatments and manicures, being around them seems therapeutic. Familiar faces once again working in a blunder to get me looking back in Capitol shape, for my return to the eyes of the nation as the Victor of the 74th Hunger Games.

As Flavius works goops of hair product into my scalp, I listen to their excitement towards me and Peeta, and how we must share the same feeling, but with regards to being the mentors, to being on the other side of the bloodbath.

"And it's the Quarter Quell!"

The Quarter Quell. The unfortunate anniversary held every twenty-five games, and from what I've heard about them, they're unimaginably more gruesome than the others. And I have to coach an ill-fated tribute to live through one of them. I can't exactly give them my strategy to winning against the odds, especially under "special" circumstances of the Quell, whatever they may be. The only person worthy enough to give advice is Haymitch, since he won the last Quarter Quell.

At last, Cinna makes his entrance and rescues me from the prep team to go over my outfit. I'm able to speak more when I'm with him. Maybe it's because he looks like a normal citizen of the District, aside from the gold eyeliner. Still, I bite my tongue when I want to negotiate the terms for the wedding dress he'll have to make for me. He dresses me in stylish yet simple clothes that I approve of due to their consideration of the cold weather.

A trilling "We're on schedule!" signals me of Effie's arrival. She parades in with a camera crew, and I wonder if it's the one specially assigned for my deal with President Snow. The unsigned contract lying underneath my bedroom pillow reassures me that it isn't. Not yet.

Before I'm herded out into the snow, my mother places the Mockingjay pin in my hands. "For good luck," she says. I wrap my fingers around hers for a few seconds, knowing that the nights she draws me a bath and cooks dinner end here.

Then Effie shoves me into the wide open of the Victors Village, reminding me that this footage will be used in the Tour, and she motions my attention towards a familiar silhouette. President Snow's voice echoes sinisterly in my head: "Convince me.". Might as well get a head start.

The red light on the camera turns on and I'm off, sprinting for Peeta. For all I know there's cameras hid at any angle, so I beam at him from the moment I reunite our lips in a fiery passion to the moment we're rolling in the snow. The way he holds me securely to him make me realize just how well he may take the news of our engagement.

My infatuation lasts until the cameras stop recording on the train, officially starting the Tour. Prim, Octavia, Effie—everyone were witnesses to my love for Peeta. If they're questioned for any suspicion of our relationship, they'll be truthfully oblivious.

Acting so much in love exhausts me, but I sway myself to finally hear Haymitch's take on the deal I made with Snow. So when the train stops for fuel, I exchange a passing glance with him and say out loud how I need some fresh air from being stuck in here for so long. Outside we reconvene and I fill him in on how much deeper I am in with the Capitol, how President Snow paid me a visit just before the Tour. I keep my face void of any emotion when I tell him how everyone I care about is in danger if I don't keep up the act during this trip.

It's like he sobers up a little for this discussion, but only enough so I can take him seriously.

"You're a Victor of the Games, sweetheart," he reminds me. "And with the thing you pulled with Peeta? That's always going to be made a point in every Game to come. Your romance will forever be in question purely because these jokes at the Capitol are interested in stuff like that."

Nothing Haymitch says puts me at ease because everything he's saying I've heard before. I know I'll never have the solitary I so desperately wish for. I know I can't stomach the risk of telling Prim to stop asking me about Peeta, and what I like so much about him. I know I have to force my heart on my sleeve for Peeta until I leave this wretched world.

Haymitch asks if I understand his point because I've been silent for a minute too long.

"I know," I respond flatly, staring blankly at the white snow. "I have to marry him."

But this, for some reason, doesn't faze him. He merely pats around for his flask and, before he takes a swig, grumbles, "How many do you have to have?"

"How many...?" I ask, confused. But I quickly catch on and my heart sinks to my stomach. I know exactly what he is slurring on about...

"I…I…" Breathless, I choke out, "I didn't get to that part yet."

"Katniss?" I hear Peeta's voice and turn around to see his blonde hair and blue eyes. And then I stagger to imagine blondes with my Seam eyes, or brunettes with his blue eyes, tiny and innocent.

As much I don't want to believe that President Snow will do something as cruel as this, I know he has me bearing children somewhere in the contract._ Kids_. _My_ kids. Kids who might end up in the arena, too. If I somehow find some happy life with Peeta, a satisfactory one at the least, President Snow will take my kids and throw them into the Games. He won't kill me. He'll just kill the life that came from me.

No. No, he can't. He wouldn't.

Feet crunch through the snow and someone pulls my hands from pressing on my stomach. It's Peeta, and he shows much reluctance with his measured movements as he holds out an envelope for me.

It's a letter from President Snow.

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_(A/N: I worked pretty quickly through this chapter, and it's even longer than the first! I'm too pumped for this story and how it will turn out. I might have followed the plot line too closely in this one…What do you all think? Should I draw back on using the original text as a guideline? Please let me know what you think! This story can only get better with your help! Reviews mean a lot to me! I look forward to the feedback!)_


	3. Chapter 3

_(A/N: Featured Reviewer/Reader:_

_"I would like to tell you I MADE THiS ACCOUNT because of you, and I've been one this site for years lol. I love your story please update soon :-)"-**clearpiano**_

_You are such a sweetheart! Thank you so much for making my heart smile!)_

* * *

"Where did you get this?" I whisper, and hardly a foggy breath leaves my lips. I resist looking to Haymitch all alarmed. Instead, I focus only on the still sealed envelope.

"Effie was about to put it in your room," Peeta replies. "What do you think it is, Katniss?"

"I don't know," I answer honestly. My next question trips over my tongue but I manage. "Did you get one?"

He shakes his head and turns to Haymitch, but Haymitch preoccupies himself with his goal of reaching the bottom of his flask. There's a glint in Peeta's eye that indicates how he still resents being left out of the loop during last year's Games. "Come on," Peeta murmurs, slipping his fingers between mine. I guess that I'm not hiding the despair on my face very well. "Let's go inside. Maybe I have one in my room, too."

Will he? I don't get the chance to find out since it's strictly time to go to bed. And when I try to stretch the seconds I have left before Effie personally closes my door for me, I only catch Peeta slip into his room after a half-hearted "Good night." I'll have to wait until tomorrow morning to learn whether I'll have to rush into this marriage sooner rather than later.

However, I can't possibly sleep well if I don't read my letter now. Like working with a sensitive time-bomb, I deftly work a finger beneath the flap and flick off the waxy Capitol seal. I lean towards the moonlight for assistance, tugging the card out into the glow.

It's a matter of horrible timing when the train slips into a tunnel and I'm left to sit here in the dark, straining my eyes to read the print. I consider turning on my lamp, but I don't want to give anyone the reason to check up on me. So I decide to wait it out, no matter how painstaking it seemed.

My hazy mind drifts to the thought of Peeta again. Ever since he discovered my scheme with Haymitch, he's put some distance between us. I hardly spoke to him after the Games, after that train ride home. His behavior, though, reassures us that he'll play along as long as the camera's on; he proved that when we tumbled around in the snow and kissed. Maybe the hug I so thought was convincing was just an act for television…

And we're supposed to get married like this? What do I even really know about Peeta? He bakes. His gentle eyes. His warm embrace despite his great strength. These are all superficial things. I should simply break this news to him now, this contract. That way I could have another head to wrap around and look for ways out of this binding settlement. Not that I've even signed the contract yet.

How can I get out of this? I can't let President Snow shackle me like this, especially after trying to get me killed in his first Game. Maybe I can run away.

As thought as if it were a sign, moonlight finally filters in through my window, and I take in a breath, flipping back the lip of the envelope.

_Please return signed paperwork to Ms. Effie Trinket tomorrow morning._

_She will provide further instructions._

Involuntarily I scoff at the implied courtesy because it's clearly an order. Snow expects me to sign my life away now, and he wants it in his hands as soon as possible. _"Or else"_ should be the closing of the letter, instead of a chilling, _"Until next time, Ms. Everdeen."_

By reflex, I toss the letter across the room and bury my scream into my pillow before I retrieve the contract from my unpacked things. I've left them untouched, so the idea of fleeing must have been lurking in my subconscious for a while now.

But here I am instead, flipping through pages and pages of rules and guidelines, signing at the x's as I go. However, not without jotting them down. As I squint in the minimal moonlight, I scribble out everything that has to do with putting my family, Peeta, Gale, Haymitch and anyone else important, in danger.

_Peeta Mellark…Katniss Everdeen…be in love._

_Cameras will be appointed…will be reported when going live…_

_Family/friend affairs are to be requested…give five days notice for camera crew to prepare…_

_Must remain within a quarter-mile radius of home…shopping and trade permitted._

_Timely visits of capitol authorities ("Guests")_

_Accept all missions when they are assigned…complete within timely manner. Subject to "punishment" otherwise._

_No speaking of contract to those outside of contract._

_Wedding…children…_

_Divorce strictly forbidden unless maker of contract vetos agreement altogether._

My hand cramps from all the signatures and copying, so when I rest, I slip in a few minutes of restless sleep. Overall, nevertheless, the morning comes unwelcomed and I'm in no good mood to eat breakfast.

First things first. I crawl into a black leather chair that swivels on an axis, and my prep team goes to work. They make sure I'm free of any hair other than the top of my head and my eyebrows, but even there they insist my brow arch can be more defined. Comments and complaints bounce off the walls, that whatever was bothering me should be forgotten, or else I will get wrinkles on my forehead. And I'm making concealing the dark circles under my eyes more difficult.

But I won't forget. Not when one of Snow's workers sits across from me at the table for breakfast. I can't believe that this bright colored, cotton-candy-headed Capitol is a part of this. She seemed nice enough—sickeningly sweet, really—but look at her now. I can't trust that chirping voice of hers. Not a word. So when she rambles on about the exciting Victory Tour we're about to have, I snap.

"No one cares, Effie!" I burst out. The silence that falls—no agreeing comment whatsoever—propels me to march out. I find it harder and harder to breathe through my infuriation so, without thinking, I trigger an alarm upon opening an emergency door. The snow melts instantaneously at my feet when I land in it. I'm that fuming.

As I come down to my knees and let the ice cool me down manually, someone else lands into the snow behind me. The ice under his artificial leg just seems to mold around it.

"Bad day, huh?" Peeta asks. When I ignore him, afraid to spit something unintentionally acidic at him too, Peeta takes the reins on the conversation, as he always does. "I'm sorry, Katniss."

"For what?" I wonder out loud.

"For how ridiculous I was. You remember, on that train back home from…" he trails off, the subject too sensitive to bring back up. "Anyway, I want to say I'm sorry for the way I acted. I put two and two together about you and Gale. It's not your fault you didn't know about my feelings, when you didn't really know I existed."

But I did know he existed, this boy with the bread. The fury inside me takes a turn for the worst, and now I'm guilty that I lied to Peeta. Lied about loving him when my intentions were elsewhere. We are going to be in this for the long haul, now that I've signed my soul away.

So I murmur, "I'm sorry, too," though I'm not entirely sure what for. My feelings were too far up in the air to see clearly. But Peeta's sincerity is there, and it only cues my curiosity. Did he get a letter last night? About…recruitment?

"How about we take a shot at being friends?" he offers, adamant on keeping whatever relationship we have alive. So no letter…

"Okay," I say. Friends is a good start, but it's far from where we are supposed to be. We're supposed to be levels in love beyond friendship. But I take it. At least we're talking again.

"So what's wrong?" That's a question I refuse to answer. It requires me severing this rekindled friendship and jump right to the wedding. Peeta senses this, so he back tracks. Trying again, he offers, "My favorite color's sunset."

"Sunset?" I ask.

"A shade of orange," he explains. "What's yours?"

Amused at the lighter conversation subject, I answer, "Green." I reflect the small smile he gives me. "Sunset's not a color, though," I insist, thinking of the shades of red, yellows, oranges.

"It is! I have paintings to prove it. I think we can go look at them now." He stands up and holds out a hand out to me. "That's what your letter said, too, right? That they set up one of the train cars with just my paintings?"

I force a tightlipped smile, neither agreeing or disagreeing, and take Peeta's hand of friendship. I let our fingers thread around each other's, and absorb the fact that our talk was comfortable due to the absence of cameras. Once we step foot onto the train, I still find comfort there in his hand. His left hand.

"Oh," I speak up, coming to a stop right before getting on the train. "I need to talk to Effie."

Peeta again assumes that I'm going to apologize, but really, I'm dealing with the obligation of turning in my documents. I tell him to go on ahead, and I make a detour to my room for the contract. I call back the feeling of Peeta's hand when I face Effie.

"Here," I say firmly, slapping the packet on the coffee table in front of her.

"Oh my!" she gasps, and laughs at her own shock. I scowl at her. "I'm terribly sorry, Katniss," she says, catching me off-guard. "I wish to have told you sooner, but I have direct orders from our President Snow to refrain from ruining the surprise." Translation: He has something against her as well.

I can't decide on my feelings: angry or pity or empathy. But I settle on giving a nod and walk away, in high hopes that Peeta's paintings will sooth me numb.

They indeed numb me, but the paintings he has strung up on the walls and brightly lit do all be sooth me. There are realistic images that yank back the most terrifying of memories from the Games. The blood, the gore, the tracker jackers, the cornucopia, the mutts, the cave…And Rue.

I reach out, but I forbid myself to touch. "I hate them," I blurt out, caught between glaring and tearing my eyes from the pictures. "The paintings, I mean, Peeta. They make me sick."

He drops his head, nodding somewhat. "I see them every night," he admits darkly. "I can't sleep much ever since then." I ask about last night, if he slept, but he shakes his head no.

So he might've heard me scream over President Snow's letter. I'm much more grateful to him for not asking about it.

All of the sudden, the train jerks back, slowing down for a stop. We rush to a nearby window and wince at the gleaming pinks, greens, yellows. We pass by a golden gate, sky high it seems, and the train pulls into an equally ornate station. A sea of dazzling and outrageous clothes swarms the car, waving and cheering. Last time this happened, we were lining up to get killed.

This must be a scheduled stop, because Effie isn't irked when she steps out. She's smiling. Effie calls us forth, out into the crowd that appears to have been waiting for us. She informs us that the Victory Tour has unfortunately been cut short. Instead of visiting the Districts individually, as they have done for the last 74 years, we will be televised.

I blink again and see the vibrant colors a little more clearly now. The ostentatious clothing, the decorative pave way, the plump citizens…We aren't at District 11, that, I'm certain of. We are at the Capitol.

And on cue, Effie reveals my second letter. While Peeta's distracted by all his wealthy, adoring fans, I read the note.

_Everyone will be watching._

It's a warning. My insides coil and I crumple the note, throwing it under the train tracks. This is it. This is where I have to convince everybody how in love I am with Peeta.

When we arrive at the outsized auditorium, with my arm inseparably hooked around Peeta's, I'm astonished by the number of screens arranged on stage. I count them swiftly. Twelve. Professionals wire up each television and one by one they go from static to live feeds of starving, heartrending bodies of people. In one sweep, I look into the eyes of every person from every district. Meanwhile, the Capitols make a beeline for the closest available seat to the stage.

I'm reluctant to detach myself from Peeta, but I'm in need for touch-ups. My prep team slips on my dress, press powder on my cheeks, swirl my hair up and then down. The faster they work on me, the faster my heart thrums against my chest. But I gather myself at the seams and put one foot in front of the other as Peeta leads us out into the spotlight.

It's the same roar of energy from the Games, if not louder. Peeta lifts our clasped hands high into the air, and we receive a thunderous response. In the time that we have to present ourselves, Peeta and I take turns speaking in the direction of the audience, when really, we're intended to speak to the Districts. Encouraging them, reassuring them that if we can beat the odds of the Hunger Games, maybe they can, too.

This more than feels scripted, and it's evident in my anxious voice. Peeta, on the other hand, speaks without a prompt, so full of enlightening and flippant things to say. But he does all he can to not make me look bad by stealing loving glances here and there. I never leave his side.

President Snow stays out of sight during our speeches. I pretend to scour the audience, but there's no sign of his puffy lips or trace of his acerbic breath.

It's Peeta's turn at the podium when we speak to District 11.

"Tributes' families from District 11," he begins solemnly, "although it has no coin value, you have my undying gratitude." A low hum rises out of the audience. I glimpse at the District 11 monitor, and they're listening very closely. "Because of how you raised Thresh and Rue, both of whom, I believe, were some of the strongest tributes…" He takes a moment, a deep wrinkle forming on his brow, and stares at me. The arm he has wrapped around me tightens, and, without tearing his eyes away, he adds, "They live forever in our hearts. Without them, I wouldn't have her."

At the outset, we hear people gush and even cry when Peeta presses a kiss to my lips. But when we part, Peeta and I catch a distinct gasp that sparks off others. I survey the crowd and grasp that several of them are pointing at the televisions. I whirl around in time to see pandemonium on the District 11 screen. They're angry—no, _livid_ at Peeta's words, and I don't understand why. I notice fervently shaking heads, acts of defiance. A step closer and I read the mouths of one of the rebelling citizens.

"_Liars! You're liars!"_

No more than two seconds later, the live feed cuts to static.

Silence from the auditorium. And then, in a synchronized fashion, the audience jumps to their feet to cheer and applaud eccentrically.

* * *

_(A/N: Thanks for reading! I sincerely hope you enjoyed reading this chapter. As you can tell, the story will start out pretty similar to the beginning of Catching Fire, but it will span outwards into it's own individual plot with hints of the original story._

_Also, thank you so much for reviewing, for those lovely readers who have! You do realize I receive emails about those of you listing We Got Married as a favorite story or putting it on alert...It kind of, sort of, breaks my heart to not hear from you! Please don't be shy! I'm not mean or anything! In fact, I try to personally reply back signed reviews! So please, if you've got a question, comment, correction, random fact, please share it with a review! I love you forever!)_


	4. Chapter 4

_(A/N: Featured reader/reviewer:_

_"This is really good, and you voice Katniss so well! I cannot wait to read more, and welcome to the fandom! :D"-_**populardarling**

_Why thank you! I've never been formally-as far as PM's go-welcomed to a fandom before! Now, if you could be so kind to tell a newbie where to put her things...)_

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The people of the Capitol cheer and clap and whistle at the monitors, and for me and Peeta. I snap my head back and forth from the collection of televisions and the elated crowd, trying to figure out what's going on.

What is there to applaud so much about? Why did those people from District react the way they did? Why did they call us liars?

None of my questions are answered. Instead we are urged to exit the stage, to make ourselves comfortable behind the curtains. To find comfort in this blizzard of clamor is impossible, and I become slightly disoriented enough for Peeta to have to protect me from impatient peacemakers. They pull back the curtain and we disappear in the darkness.

"Katniss."

I feel a hand wrap around my elbow and yank me aside. My eyes adjust to them dim lighting. "Haymitch," I breathe a sigh of relief. "Peeta. Where's Peeta?" Panicked, I feel my way around until a pair of hands takes hold of me.

"I'm right here," he says, joining our huddle.

"Just what is going on here?" Effie demands as she hoists up her frilly dress and marches past stubborn guards, absolutely flustered. "Did we miss something? We did, didn't we? How dare you keep my team in the dark? I should report all of you!"

Together, we try to listen in on the mix of the riled up conversations. Haymitch seems to get the gist before us and orders us to stay close as he delves farther from the pandemonium, to a quieter part of the auditorium. We swerve and cut corners, hurry up steps and slip through closed doors before we arrive at a location that seems a world apart from the auditorium.

It's quiet, but no less disconcerting because I want my answers.

But Haymitch shoots me this look, as if I should already know the answers.

What? What is it? The last thing I remember is Peeta thanking District 11...for their tributes...for keeping us alive…

"They're angry," I say, but for only my own conclusion. Peeta is patient—just barely—and waits for me to elaborate. I look to Haymitch.

"You're better off telling him," Haymitch insists.

Tentative, I turn my attention back to Peeta, and he's a shade more frustrated than before. "They think you—that we lied about...us, and they blame us for Thresh and Rue's death." I swallow thickly, fighting to keep my voice even. "If it wasn't for us, one of them might've come out alive."

"That's not fair," Peeta says, his jaw clenching. "Katniss, you didn't throw that spear, and Thresh saved you on his own decision. They had just as much of a chance as we did, getting out of that place out alive. I didn't lie." He makes a point to single himself out, because he knows there's something else. There's yet another piece of information that I haven't told him. "That still does explain why The Capitol reacted like that."

In one quick breath, I tell him the deal I made with President Snow. How I did it to save his life and Prim's and Gale's and everyone else's. How everything can fall apart if we don't stick together. How we can maybe find some way to—

I try to keep steady, pleading eye contact with Peeta but he resists and steps away from me.

"And you knew about this?" he asks Haymitch before turning to me, his rage tightening in his fists. "You agreed to do this? Katniss, I thought we were done keeping things from each other. The both of you."

I blinked, unable to reason. "I—"

"Listen, boy," Haymitch begins, "we were going to tell you about it."

"Not soon enough." Peeta paces back and forth, the old floorboards groaning at the new weight of things. He struggles to find the right angry words to say to the both of us, which only fuels him on. "Haymitch, I—and you, Katniss—I have _every_ right to know what's going on, when I have people _I_care about involved!"

I feel Peeta's eyes bore into me, and my head shrinks into my shoulders. He makes sure to use his affection for me against me, and he succeeds at making me feel in the wrong.

"Peeta, I had no choice but to—"

With a solid shake of his head, he wrenches his tie loose and marches out, shoving arbitrary boxes out of his way.

Haymitch lays a hand on my shoulder and sighs, "You'll learn. We all have our choices to make." He then follows my sluggish feet back to the auditorium, but we are soon ushered into a waiting room where Effie is, her fingers twiddling nervously. She stands at our entrance, antsy for whatever reason.

On edge, she twitches a smile, smoothes out her outfit and perches back on the couch. She elongates her sigh, almost humming. "Why, hello, Katniss," she says evenly as I take the spot beside her. "Did you hear? Your performance tonight? They thought it was absolutely splendid! Whatever in the world you and Peeta did, the Capitol just ate it all up!" Despite her enthusiasm, clearly Effie takes her lack of being informed to great offense. Her hands fly around in sharp waves and flicks, her voice decibels soaring as she tells me that we left them wanting more. We are to finish up the ceremony tomorrow.

Want, want, want. More, more more.

Feeding off of Effie's frustrations, I say, "So should we not go to tonight's dinner? Leave them wanting more, right?" I am not ready to face these inhumane top hats and corsets. These so-called people who relish in the harm of others.

"And miss out on the happy couple's first hours of footage?" She lightly pats my knee and regroups with her camera crew. She utilizes this time in the waiting room to prep me, give me tips on what to say in light of hypothetical questions, find which angle and side of my face makes for better television, but all I can think about is Peeta and how he should be here with me. I can't be the happy couple without him.

To escape the extended prep time to change into a different outfit, in my head I begin to list all the things I would do for Peeta to make up for...everything. For the Games, for all the kisses, for all the lies I told to him face to face. For the things I didn't tell him, and for the things I have yet to—like our marriage arrangements.

Like a tower teetering on its last legs, I'm about to make my humiliating stumble into the dinner party when Peeta poises his arm out for me to hold onto. Effie gives us the countdown before she goes live, and I take the chance to inform him about Effie and the five-minute warning. I have this urge to spill the rest of the contract contents but Peeta interrupts me, securing my arm to his, as though he knows I might try to run away.

"No more secrets," he says, his eyes fixed on the doors that are supposed to open for us. "No more secrets, Katniss."

I gulp down this lump in my throat and nod. "None," I promise, and I intend to keep it. I'll tell him about how we are supposed to be even more in love, and how we have to live together, and that President Snow and other Capitol Officials will check up on us every once in a while. I promise to tell him soon enough, but with the exception of the nuptials and biological attachments that are surely short to follow. I myself can't fully grasp that part yet.

"Ten seconds, darlings!" Effie chimes in.

Peeta leans towards me, attention still trained forward. "Did you kiss Gale?" he asks in a quick whisper, taking full advantage of the truth session.

"_No_," I say just as fast, suddenly defensive. But when he shoots me an accusing glare, I fold and admit, "But he kissed me."

Peeta exhales slowly through his nose and tips his chin in a brisk, understanding fashion. When the doors creak open, we both square our shoulders. But neither of us is prepared for the onslaught of attention we receive.

The flash of ballroom lights blind us upon impact, and it takes us a few beats before we can see the assembly of people from the Capitol charging for us. Peeta and I saunter in while they gush on about us star-crossed lovers, over our romance. Caught up in the moment, some of them even have the nerve to _blame_ and _accuse_ the other tributes—the ones who've nevertheless died—of trying to get in the way of our happiness.

I want to drop the smile I have on my face but for Effie's sake, for the camera's sake, I ignore the incompetent comments and keep on walking. All in all, that's what I have to go through the entire night. Forced to nod, obligated to be thankful. Images of dead faces superimpose on the dyed complexions I stare at, and my head spins. I lose my appetite despite the buffet spread. Before the dinner party ends, I've lost all composure and can barely stand on my own.

I'm in Peeta's safe hands once again when we politely excuse ourselves for the rest of the night. We obtain some concerned looks, but Effie consents to cut the recording at this point and directs us to our rooms.

Since we are on Capitol territory, Peeta and I keep our guards up. For all we know, President Snow has the vicinity bugged and wired with cameras. So I find refuge on Peeta's shoulder as he rubs my lower back, ignoring completely the shiver that goes up my spine. When we reach our rooms, one across from the other, Peeta sees me inside to check for listening devices of any sort.

But as soon as I hit the oversized mattress, I drift into restless sleep. Armies of dead tributes assault me with their screams, their pained faces so much more vivid than before. They claw for me with their bloody hands, and I clamp my own over my mouth to cover my cry. My cry then turns to a strangled scream when their faces morph into vicious snarls with razor sharp teeth. They double in size, it seems, all of them towering over me with their shadows, ready to ambush. But, something makes them come to a halt. The shadows pivot in the opposite direction from me, and they charge toward Prim, Peeta, Gale…

_Katniss_, they call for me.

_No!_ But I'm frozen.

_Katniss!_

_No, don't!_ I'm helpless.

"Katniss!"

"Don't!" I scream myself awake, already rocking back in forth in a familiar embrace.

"Shh," Peeta whispers in my ear while I shiver. "It's not real, Katniss. I'm here."

Urgent to take hold of reality, I feel around for Peeta's strong arms, his broad back. I try to take lungs full of his scent but I fall uncontrollably into sobs. I hold onto him with all my might and he reciprocates, echoing "I'm here" over and over again.

When I finally calm down, he lays me back onto the bed. "Don't go," I plead, my eyes still clamped shut. "Peeta, please, stay with me." Because I remember back to when we were in the cave, and the memory itself is comforting. And as if to relive that one fragment of the Games, the only one I don't mind coming back to me, Peeta lightly presses his lips to the corner of my mouth.

"Always," he promises. His voice sounds ragged, in pain. Still, he cradles me up into the air to push back the covers and tucks us in securely to each other.

Before long, it's morning, the day we are to finish our speeches. Our night together takes no time to get around to Effie and other residential Capitols. They say someone saw us going into my room together, and how they caught us leaving together for prep, looking absolutely disheveled. For once, I'll leave it up to the entertained to come to their own conclusions.

When Effie warns us to be more discreet, I shake my head and say, "Good. Maybe it will get back to Snow." She nods, taking the hint, and tells us farther ahead of time that she'll be filming us for a special after the ceremony.

Although it's our third time on this very stage, it's no less nerve-wracking. Everyone is watching, even District 11, despite the fact that their numbers of Peacekeepers have grown. Haymitch catches me with my attention diverted so he snaps at me to focus. He points down into the audience pit and I make out President Snow's white rose. He's in the front row.

My breathing picks up when I steal a glance at Peeta while he does his part of the speech. "…Lastly, Katniss and I would like to thank the hospitality you've all shown us. Somehow, we've grown so much closer…" he drones on.

I have to show President Snow I can come through with our agreement. Peeta and I have to get married. Forget the shock and awe, I have to propose. Right now. I—

"…And so," Peeta concludes, and my lips part to speak but he suddenly turns to me and my breath catches, "I'd like to ask you something." Howling gasps cut through the silence as Peeta takes a knee to the ground, pulling out a small suede box. "Will you do me the honor, Katniss Everdeen, of marrying me?" he asks.

I blink once, twice, three times. My mouth dries from gaping open so long. For the longest time I hear nothing but a sharp hum of sound as the shock registers, like the kind of subconscious pitch I hear when the fence back home runs with volts of electricity. Then, I hear snapping again from Haymitch.

"Yes," I exhale, and the audience swells. "Yes!"

Peeta beams up at me, slips the band onto my finger and picks me up by waist to swing me around; kissing me passionately like he's genuinely happy and I kiss him back.

The place goes up in hysteria when Peeta and I wave our goodbyes. It's unbelievable. The onscreen couple is at last set to get married. My heart is still racing when we exit the stage.

"Either your prep team put too much make up on you, or you're actually blushing, sweetheart," Haymitch teases in a chuckle.

I press my hands to my face first, mortified, and then scowl at Peeta, which makes him laugh as well. "Haymitch thought it would be more believable if we didn't tell you," he explains, shrugging. "Personally, I wouldn't have wanted this to happen this way, but…" Cameras stroll in, just as Effie promised, and Peeta says under his breath to me, "I promise this is the last time."

"Well done." My blood runs cold when I hear President Snow's voice. "Well done," he announces, shaking Peeta's hand firmly. "My congratulations, you two." He comes between me and Peeta, one at each side of him, telling us that it "was about time," and I don't miss a beat of his double-meaning.

The red light on the camera turns off and I inch away from President Snow. He still seems amused, which has me on my toes. Does he approve? Did I do it to his liking? Is he convinced?

I don't know how he does it, and my stomach churns at the idea of it, but he seems to have read my mind. He takes one more look at me, his puffy lips curling, and shakes his head. From his inside coat pocket, the one right behind his white rose, he pulls out an envelope and gives it to me in passing, never looking back.

I stare through the letter. It didn't work. He wants more from me.

Peeta relieves the envelope from my hands and rips it open. Inside is an address, and a key engraved with the same numbers from the address.

_My engagement present to the happy couple._

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_(A/N: Isn't President Snow some twisted soul? Speaking of something twisted, I came up with a new idea for a new story, and naturally, it's for the Hunger Games fandom! :) I'm not sure if anyone has written anything about it, but I've already written out the prologue. It's most definitely an AU, but still from Katniss' perspective. I'm going to type it up as soon as I can, and I hope you'll give that a read as well!_

_Thanks again for reading! And please do review!)  
_


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